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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825991">A Vintage Long Preserved</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgaywizard/pseuds/thatgaywizard'>thatgaywizard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Beauclair, Bottom Geralt, Corvo Bianco, Happily Ever After, Immortal Jaskier, Jaskier comes to visit, Jaskier is ABSOLUTELY DRESSED TO THE NINES as usual, Jaskier is immortal in this, M/M, Sleeveless tunics, Wine, a soft epilogue, eventually some sexy bits and softer romance, it is what it is, obligatory bath scene, sexy medieval hosery, vineyards, we do not touch on it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:02:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,807</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825991</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgaywizard/pseuds/thatgaywizard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An old longing comes to fruition in the warm embrace of Toussaint where a bard visits his seemingly retired witcher once more.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>207</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is largely drawing off of the game endings because the last one was very very pretty.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Toussaint was always warm with insects humming incessantly in the long golden grass. Washing hung out on the line by the fields where the villagers had their modest homes while small children played in the road with their dogs and the vintner’s men dozed in the afternoon shade, sleeping off the midday wine. Up above it all towered the Beauclair Palace, banners waving in the air before a vibrant, cloudless, blue sky.</p><p> It had been months since Geralt had any need to concern himself with a contract or a disturbance more than a petty land squabble. He had become grateful for the estate bestowed upon him in payment by the Duchess Anna Henrietta and Corvo Bianco had become the home he had never looked for or expected.</p><p>He kept mostly to himself these days, receiving few visitors, though every once and again Ciri would travel through the region and stay with him. She was painfully grown up, carrying more responsibility on her shoulders than he ever had at her age. His life was- for lack of a better word- <em> peaceful </em>. The road here had been a long one. Incredibly long. The end had never really been in sight, even now, it seemed uncertain.</p><p>“Can I bring you anything, sir?” </p><p>His musings were interrupted by Barnabas coming up the walk to the front of the house, he stood off to the side of the porch where Geralt sat on a bench. The sweeping view that dropped down across the property went on forever, out into the untended fields and grassy hillsides before transforming into orchards and houses all painted in colors like a summer’s afternoon, before disappearing into trees and great blue mountains in the distance.</p><p>“No. Thank you, Barnabas,” Geralt’s voice was subdued and introspective, “think I might go into town later.”</p><p>“Very good, sir,” the Majordomo said. He stood with his hands behind his back and drifted away after a moment to do whatever it was he may have been up to.  </p><p>Barnabas Basil had been a great help when Geralt had come to Corvo Bianco. He had been key in assisting him with restoring the place utterly and even gone so far as to convert the wine cellar partly into an alchemy lab. He was far from being a stranger to Geralt at this point but persisted with his formalities, in voice at least, but in between the times in which he acted as a servant they sat out on the porch and would reminisce over a bottle of wine. Geralt had come to know more about wine than he ever thought he would want and a great deal of other things related to it. </p><p>A slim white and gray cat slunk by through the herb garden down on the left side of the property and out of sight.</p><p>“I see you...” he whispered to it.</p><p>The cat hated him, as most cats did, but it still frequented the property anyway, perhaps because the workers fed it. He’d attempted to make peace with it, leaving offerings of fresh pâté and cream but it still continued to hiss and streak off into the vineyard at the sight of him- something very few people did anymore these days, here in Toussaint at least. The cat’s rancor almost made him nostalgic. </p><p>In a few hours the afternoon sky would change with imperceptible subtlety from blue to bright pink- a pink that no artist had yet to recreate- to a purple that rivaled a field of lavender, as the sun lowered itself towards the horizon. There was a twinge in his old witcher heart. This place lent itself to bitter sweet loneliness. Although the groundskeepers who lived on the estate were constantly around and working in the vineyards he never really felt connected to anyone in a more than fleeting manner. His daily interactions were largely transactional and brief, perhaps of no fault but his own. His last and dearest friend in this place had been a vampire after all, and sitting in a graveyard late at night didn’t make you many acquaintances. How could anyone ever really go back to mere mortal friendship after having the intimacy of another being who had lived far longer than you? There was Barnabas, whom he had grown rather fond of with all his stiff mannerly antics, but the man was devoted to the role he had been placed in. </p><p>Geralt did decide to go out that afternoon. There was always something happening in Beauclair whether in the lower part of the city or the upper streets nearer to the palace. Drama tended to be more prevalent the higher you went. But there was music everywhere. Here it was always tambourines and flutes, lulling, and sometimes terrible due to the amount of wine that seemed to flow through this duchy but it lent itself to the laissez faire. It was not like Temeria where they drank to <em>forget</em>, or Oxenfurt with its staggering students, or the icy Skellige Isles where the beer was cold whether you liked it or not.</p><p>Of course the region had it’s issues- some very large ones upon a time, but it was calm and easy these days. Nevertheless, there was always something in the back of Geralt’s mind, scratching at the door, waiting, telling him not to get too comfortable. He hadn’t expected to stay here this long but one season faded into another and then the next and the next and he found himself coming back to the doorway of Corvo Bianco for another year, and again another after that.</p><p>There was a tavern on the river near the edge of the border. It was one of the first places he had come to when he arrived in Toussaint. The place was small and not half as opulent as most of the other establishments in the region but the plowman’s pies were secretly good and even the cheapest wine they sold was the same as it was anywhere in Beauclair: medal winning.</p><p>He dressed casually going out these days but old habits never really died completely, he kept his sword at his saddle and his bracers on. He wore a doublet loosely without sleeves and his sturdy trousers fit for riding or fighting.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt took Roach over the stone bridge that spanned the river. The crest outside the tavern came into view as he drew near, a wyvern adorned the small splintered placard. Moss covered the shingles of the building’s roof. Three wine barrels sat stacked to the side of the building. The light beige paint on the walls was peeling away from so many months in the sun. </p><p>He eyed a man in powdery blue silks holding a flute as he dismounted and found Roach a spot off to the side by a water trough. The flute player was conversing with another man out front, his image brought to mind memories of Geralt’s own bard, wherever he might have been now. It had been nearly a full calendar year since he received a letter from Jaskier and nearly as long since the one before. </p><p>Inside, he put his hands on the counter and waited. His arms were bare all the way to his shoulders in his dark doublet, a few buttons at the top lazily undone, his skin lanced with scars across the lean muscled flesh. They knew him here and they didn't look more than once at him. <em> Usually </em>. </p><p>The owner was working behind the bar today.</p><p>“I am liking this look,” he told Geralt, gesturing to his newly barbered hair as if they were friends but really Geralt had only ridden past here a few times in the last couple months. His hair had been tended to a few days prior, sheared close at the sides, the rest worn long in a ponytail.</p><p>The owner of the tavern probably remembered him most as the witcher hired to deal with the dead castle guard found in the river out front so long ago, now simply an indentured servant of the palace more or less. That was before things had gone to hell, before the duchess had avoided an assination by her own sister, before the Night of Fangs, as they called it now…</p><p>“The usual red, or perhaps something stronger today?”</p><p>Geralt wasn’t usually picky but he’d evolved slowly somehow into a person who could actually distinguish one wine from another and was no longer chagrined by that fact. </p><p>“What’s new this season?” </p><p>“Ah well,” the man pulled out a bottle from the back and held it across the counter in both hands like a blacksmith proffering a sword. “This was from the barrel tasting at Toricella last month. Underappreciated by the general public but I think you have the palate to enjoy its complexities.”</p><p>“Trying to unload your stock, huh?” Geralt jested.</p><p>“You wound me, sir. You are the last person I would try to bamboozle.”</p><p>“I’m just kidding Alfonse, I’m sure it’s fine.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He went out onto the porch in the back of the building where you could see the river winding up the countryside. The doors were all open and the tavern was not very busy for late midday. He must have been getting soft, he didn’t notice that someone had been watching him since he had arrived…</p><p>He didn’t notice until a few chords of a lute floated across to him. It was a lovely melody but not enough to stand out. There were always musicians in Beauclair everywhere you went. But as he sat outside the tune persisted, for some reason continuing to grab his attention and pull it back once again. It was truthfully very lovely, but no more so than the ordinary tune one might hear walking down any given street-</p><p>nonetheless, the harder he tried to ignore it the more intense the melody became. And the more he concentrated on his wine and the view the more intricate the melody wrote itself,  growing faster as it went. It was becoming- not louder- but simply <em> more </em>, until finally as the song seemed to peak- as if there were two lutes being played separately-  he gave in. He looked inside to the other corner of the tavern where the musician was.</p><p>His eyes were deceiving him. </p><p>It only seemed...he was only <em>thinking</em> it was <em>him- </em>because of the man outside- because Geralt had been reminiscing but...</p><p>As he stared a smile slowly betrayed his disbelief and he met the sparkling mischievous eyes of the bard from where he could see him through the doorway across the room.</p><p>The bard finished with a delicate flourish and then washed up to Geralt like a clear frothing wave upon the sand, in frills and brocade , where he stepped outside into the light. He stood over him smiling fondly before sitting down opposite at the small table as if he’d been invited.</p><p>“You are a tough audience, my friend,” Jaskier said, setting his lute against the wall.</p><p>It was as if they had never parted. </p><p>“Perhaps you’re not as good as you think,” Geralt said almost reflexively.</p><p>They fell back into their friendly banter. </p><p>“And here I was afraid you might have changed.”</p><p>Geralt laughed. An unbearable warmth suffused the space he was inhabiting. Suddenly now his friend was there and it warmed the cold places inside of him he hadn’t realized the Toussaint sun wasn’t reaching.</p><p>“I jest of course, I never had any fear of that.”</p><p>Geralt shook his head. All he could do was look. </p><p>Jaskier was wearing an impossible costume, some kind of smooth turquoise fabric with golden leaf brocade all across the arms and chest. His legs were clad in tight hose that clung like honey to a spoon with vertical stripes that emphasized the shape of the leg, black and pale honeysuckle. They traveled up until they were cut off by garters that were part of checkered shorts, nearly as tight as the hose. His boots came up mid calf, some narrow toed affair with a heel that didn't look fit for traveling. He was very much in the fashion of the region but as usual still bringing something <em> extra </em>to it. His doublet was slashed with pleats that bloomed puffs of fabric from his equally dazzling chemise, the sleeves likewise did the same. The chemise underneath matched the color of his striped hose.</p><p><em>All that</em> and really it was his face that Geralt found himself unable to look away from. He was simply outmatched in his own plain trousers and vest, his  medallion hanging simply against his chest in the open v of the doublet. </p><p>Jaskier stared at him a long time, his eyes traveling from the witcher's hands were they lay on the table, up his arms, and finally coming to rest on Geralt's face before asking, “How are you, old friend? You look well. I am glad to see it.”</p><p>“Better now that you are here,” Geralt told him honestly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They had just one cup of wine each before deciding to wander out into the oncoming evening. The horse beside Roach, it turned out, belonged to Jaskier. He called her Dewdrop affectionately and said he didn’t know what her actual name was.</p><p>The ride back to Corvo Bianco was slow and pleasant. Jaskier soaked up the countryside as they stayed in pace with one another, gazing off  toward the twin peaked mountains that dominated the horizon, like pincers or devils horns, they inevitably drew the eye with their peculiarity. </p><p>“Priscilla is running the cabaret now,” Jaskier shared. “It will always be important to me but it’s no longer inspiring like it once was. I need something fresh, or perhaps,” he said with a great sigh, “perhaps it’s me that’s grown stale.”</p><p>“If only that were possible,” Geralt said, looking down at the vibrant pattern of Jaskier’s hosiery next to the dappled brown flank of his horse.</p><p>Jaskier gave him an appreciative look.</p><p>They crossed small wooden bridges only a few boards long that passed over half dry creek beds. Their way winding alongside old homesteads no longer there, broken segments of fence stood up by themselves, no longer containing anything, serving only as a trellis for the weeds. Broad, flat, white clustered blossoms of Wild Carrot grew in bunches in the fields, adding their paleness to the pallet. Soon the brick walkways no longer met them underfoot and they road on dry packed earth all the way back to Geralt’s home. </p><p>“What of it then? Anything crazy and exciting going on around here? Or have you been here so long you’ve simply exterminated everything in the area?”</p><p>“I’m afraid you might be right about that last bit.”</p><p>“There’s always something.”</p><p>“You're right. The stable had wood rot last month and I had to rebuild the entire left side of it. Wasn't exactly exciting.”</p><p>“<em>Good </em> lord, you <em> are </em>retired.”</p><p>“Just wait until you see the painting I had done of Ciri when she came last.”</p><p>“Why do I get the feeling you're not actually joking?”</p><p>“She's so galled by it, I hung it in the dining room just for when she comes by.”</p><p>“Not just because you’re a sentimental old fool?”</p><p>“Eh.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt took Jaskier’s mount to the stable beside roach. The two beasts were amiable and indifferent to one another.</p><p>“Still as regal as ever,” Jaskier said, taking in the estate. It wasn't a large place, but certainly larger than most homes, and two stories tall. Down near the stable there was a smattering of small buildings where the workers who lived on the property resided.</p><p>“Regal in the most rustic sense.”</p><p>“You have a wine cellar and a manservant. I call that regal.”</p><p>“Barnabas Basil isn’t really my servant. He’s established here by the palace. I’m not the one paying him. He’s been here longer than I have.”</p><p>“It is more or less as I remember it. Perhaps a little more...did you add something?”</p><p>“Probably. I can't remember what was done after you were last here. Kind of just let the groundskeeper and Barnabas do what they want. They have stronger opinions about the place than I do and they haven’t made me regret anything yet.”</p><p>Jaskier stood with his hands on his hips as Geralt exited the small stable. His gaze was lingering on the witcher. “I’m a little surprised you're still here, to be honest,” he said after a moment, more seriously.</p><p>Geralt patted Jaskier firmly on the back and slung an arm around him companionably to guide them up to the house before letting him go.</p><p>“If you have nowhere else to be I guess this isn’t a bad place to wind up.”</p><p> </p><p>Once inside Jaskier stared at the large painting in the center of the left wall. “You weren’t kidding,” he said, looking at a very realistic likeness of Cirilla and Geralt together in stately portrait form. </p><p>Geralt set his sword in a wall mounted rack and disappeared into the kitchen in the back before emerging with an unmarked bottle of wine. He wiped the dust off it with a rag before twisting into the top with a corkscrew.</p><p>Jaskier approached the large heavy table that lay at the center of the front room where Geralt was uncorking the bottle. “Please tell me you’ve been saving this for a special occasion.”</p><p>“I have too much wine to be saving any of it.”</p><p>Jaskier sighed and placed himself in a nearby chair. “You were supposed to lie to me, Geralt.”</p><p>“Would you like me to run you a bath and rub your feet while I’m at it?”</p><p>“Well I wouldn’t say no, if you’re offering.” He crossed one foot over his knee and rubbed the arch of his boot. “These do pinch a little.”</p><p>“Did you get all this here or did you bring it from home?” Geralt gestured to his outfit.</p><p>“I’ve pieced it together along the way. I am very eager to see what they’re offering though.”</p><p>“I know a guy.”</p><p>Jaskier furrowed his brow in disbelief before Geralt handed him a cup.</p><p>"You know a guy?"</p><p>"I had to do my share of palace stuff. My outfits aren't exactly formal."</p><p>Jaskier eyed the witcher's current outfit. Appreciating the simplicity of it, the tight fit of the soft leather pleated pants, and the fact that Geralt could make just about anything look good.</p><p>The cups Geralt used for the wine were a pale golden metal with some kind of repoussage of running horses and grand looking arches. Jaskier turned the cup around in his hand to look at it. Another testament to the witcher’s sudden unusual finery.</p><p>Geralt coaxed Jaskier back outside and they walked up the path behind the estate, pleasantly buzzing with wine now and divulging the minute details of the past year that they could recall. </p><p>“There’s another woman,” Jaskier interjected into the current topic of the cabaret. </p><p>“When is there not?”</p><p>“No- no not me. Priscilla! She has this woman, she’s obsessed- alright not obsessed, but certainly she doesn’t have any time for me these days.”</p><p>“Did she ever? That’s why you liked her.”</p><p>“What about you Geralt? No love lost in Beauclair?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Not even just a little bit?”</p><p>Geralt sighed. “I suppose there was a moment- or an <em> encounter </em>I guess, with Anna Henrietta’s sister.”</p><p>“The queen- the duchess’s- sister?!”</p><p>“Turned out to be a murderous lunatic.”</p><p>“Just your type. But still, even that’s a bit lofty for you.”</p><p>“Guess I’ll never learn.”</p><p>They stopped up on the hill just high enough that you could see over the main house. There was a small grove of apple trees there showering delicate white blossoms with every touch of the breeze. Jaskier removed his hat and plucked the petals from the velvet fabric gingerly even as they fell down to decorate his unguarded hair. It was longer now, falling over one shoulder, swept aside.</p><p>Geralt’s heart was so full of something as he watched Jaskier that it felt near to bursting, and Jaskier looked at him from the corner of his eye, some fragile hopefulness from ages past still floating there. The pauses in their conversation were very long for two people with a year’s worth of stories to tell, comparatively, especially for Jaskier who loved to tell stories. Last time Jaskier had visited he’d spoken only of his work and aspirations non stop. He was gone just as soon as he had arrived, like a wind in the door. This time was different. He was more resolute. Calm. A stillness had built within him but Geralt couldn’t tell if it was the sad kind or merely the burden of time passing. He could feel that Jaskier was still searching for something.</p><p>Jaskier stood and looked out at the mountain ridge in the distance, the sun was kissing the peaks, blending it all together just like Geralt had predicted. The sky soaked the burnt umber from the crumbling masonry and the blue from the mountains below straight into it, leaving everything a shadow.</p><p>“I remember the sunset from the last time I was here,” Jaskier said quietly, almost to himself.</p><p>Geralt ached looking at Jaskier there with words he couldn't say for fear of sounding like the “sentimental old fool” Jaskier had accused him of being. Jaskier had spoke nothing of his reasons for being in Toussaint. He had said nothing of his plans, nothing of his intentions. It was as if he was waiting for something.</p><p>“...Why did you come here?” The question was a low thrum from deep in Geralt's chest.</p><p>“To Toussaint?” Jaskier asked. </p><p><em> To Toussaint, to Corvo Bianco, to where we are standing now... </em>Geralt was silent.</p><p>Jaskier finally looked back at Geralt, he left his own answer unspoken. <em> You, </em> his eyes said. <em> You you you.<br/></em></p><p>“Will you stay a while?” Geralt asked, not  bothering to try and hide the hope in his voice. Not bothering to question what he thought he understood in Jaskier's look. The gold of Geralt's eyes was bright in the twilight - they lingered until the uncertainty in Jaskier's face finally vanished, leaving it serene.</p><p>“I think I just may...”</p><p>Geralt took a few steps nearer, until he was close enough to reach out and take the wine cup from the other man’s elegant fingers, letting his own fingers intentionally linger at the back of Jaskier’s hand before placing the cup next to his on the short fence nearby.</p><p>Jaskier’s hand didn’t lower from the position he had held the cup in and his gaze no longer strayed from Geralt. The sunset forgotten.</p><p>Geralt took his hand- and there, looking into each other’s eyes, they both knew for certain.</p><p>Without ambiguity, Geralt placed Jaskier’s palm flat against his chest where Jaskier’s fingertips just barely touched his skin at the v of his shirt, the heat familiar beneath his palm once more.</p><p>“<em>Stay...</em>” Geralt said.</p><p>There was no way, even if Jaskier had wanted to leave, to deny the tone of Geralt’s voice. The word was hard and commanding but fragile with a kind of pleading.</p><p>The bard’s composure wavered, tears sprung to his eyes, overwhelmed by an emotion that had been so well tempered only a second ago. </p><p>It had always been this way, as if the world had planned it all along and was waiting for them to finish their affairs and catch up. There were no more loose ends or broken hearts, no imminent threats of doom or dreams unfulfilled. Just this one. Just this one little seemingly boundless gap left to close. </p><p>Jaskier took one last step closer and pushed back a strand of Geralt’s hair before Geralt could capture that hand as well and hold it beside the other against his chest, his hand covering it lightly with Jaskier’s fingers curled gently in his grasp.</p><p>There were words that the bard could have fit into the space between them. This was the moment, for whatever beautiful sentiment he’d dreamt up for just this but nothing seemed worthy, and at the same time none of it mattered anymore. The door was open at last for him to walk through. The restraints, the invisible pull, that had held them apart gave way all at once and they fell slowly towards each other.</p><p>With Jaskier’s fingers trapped against his chest Geralt met him in a kiss. Lifetimes of experience were cast behind them both but it felt as if it had all culminated in this moment. There was no rush now. No desperation. It didn’t feel new despite that they had never kissed each other. It felt like coming home after a very long journey. It felt like returning.</p><p>Jaskier pulled away after a few seconds but remained close. “I wasn’t sure...”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“I wanted to come sooner but I was waiting for the courage-”</p><p>“I should have asked you before, Jaskier.”</p><p>“No...this is right.”</p><p>Geralt enclosed Jaskier’s waist with his arms, and kissed him more forcefully than before. This time it was Jaskier’s body’s turn to remember Geralt- remember very well the hard curving planes and smooth skin decorated with scars. His hands came to rest on Geralt’s bare arms, feeling the steely muscle. There was no on else who felt like this.</p><p>"Sun's going down," Geralt murmured.</p><p>"It's true. Any decent person would offer a weary traveler, such as myself, the hospitality of their home for the night."</p><p>"I think there might be some decent people down the road you could ask."</p><p>"Any <em>half</em> decent person-"</p><p>"Hm. You could stay here I guess. There's only one bed at the moment, though," Geralt mused, just a hint of a smile in his voice.</p><p>"What an <em>absolute</em> shame."</p><p>"I know. You'll have to sleep in the stable."</p><p>The sound of the bard's laughter cascaded mirthfully out across the grounds and down into the vineyard.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>well you know what comes next</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The smallest room in the estate was the kitchen with its shelves and smooth narrow tables and strings of dried garlic and herbs hanging down. The only window in the room was a narrow mullioned pane high above the back wall. </p><p>They sat in front of the hearth with a small flame dancing inside it, having dragged the dining room chairs in to sit. Jaskier put his feet up on a small crate that had once carted vegetables. It was a warm day and there was no need for a fire but it was too comfortable to mind. Jaskier cast off his doublet and boots and reclined in his delicate undershirt. </p><p>Geralt had sent Barnabas Basil away for the night although he was usually retired to his own abode by that time in one of the small homes on the grounds nearby.</p><p>Jaskier was still picking at hunks of fresh bread and fruit as he gazed dreamily at the small dancing flame. “You’re very far away, witcher,” he mused with a lazy smile, eyeing the little space between them.</p><p>Geralt’s feelings were similar. “We could retire to a more comfortable location if you’d like?”</p><p>“It sounds delightful, though I have been on the road half the day.” The implication that he needed a bath seemed lost on Geralt, who said, “Did you come to Toussaint only so recently?”</p><p>“Do you think I would have come here and not seen you first?”</p><p>“You’ve been known to dally.”</p><p>Jaskier turned to him with a soft smile. “Perhaps, but you were never far from mind.”</p><p>Geralt rose and offered Jaskier his hand. “I believe I did make some sort of promise of a bath didn’t I?”</p><p>“It was more my suggestion really.”</p><p>Geralt did go to the back room to fill the copper colored tub with water, but as they waited for the water to heat Geralt drew Jaskier in and kissed him in the foyer besides his coat of arms. They stood barefoot on the carpet that covered the cool wood floors and Jaskier melted into him.</p><p>“God I have missed you,”Jaskier said breathlessly. “I laid awake and dreamed of this on many nights that were too long.”</p><p>“It’s been lonely without you,” Geralt rumbled softly.</p><p>“It feels like a century,” Jaskier said as his fingers trailed from Geralt’s face down to caress the medallion on his chest. </p><p>Jaskier’s doublet and shoes were in the kitchen, his hat on the table in the entryway, and his shirt hanging from a sword rack outside the bedroom by the time they were inside it. Geralt lit five thick candles around the room now that it was dark, before he came over slowly and knelt before Jaskier. He unbuttoned the other man’s pants- or billowy shorts as they were- and brought them down to Jaskier’s ankles revealing the tight striped hose underneath that hid nothing in their conforming fashion. These too he unbuttoned but he did not remove them yet. He stood and pulled off his own top in a brusque gesture that left Jaskier gaping at him. </p><p>Jaskier reached out and splayed his hands over Geralt’s chest and stomach, his memory refreshed to all the scars. He always forgot how sinuous and hard Geralt’s body was, not <em> forgot </em>per say, he certainly had dwelt on the matter, but the reality still surprised him. His body etched like stone and pale under Jaskier’s hands, everything else was lost to him  as they met like a lover and a soldier just returned from war in a passionate tangle, eventually blindly finding their way out of their pants. The bath temporarily forgotten.</p><p>Geralt kissed him, pressed his fingers to Jaskier's jaw and tipped his head back, kissed his neck. His hands swept over Jaskier’s body, over the soft hair that adorned his chest and thighs and kissed his nipples. But for as hard and strong as Geralt was he was yielding and soft beneath Jaskier’s touch. He gave to the bard with an obvious need and yearning and when their legs slipped between each other’s, when Jaskier found himself above Geralt, he looked at him and knew what Geralt wanted from him then, even though neither of them had known it until that moment. When Jaskier slid between Geralt’s thighs the idea of it overwhelmed him. <em> His </em> witcher. Jaskier wanted him. He wanted to call Geralt <em> his</em>. He wasn’t sure if he could ever, but he could for this night, for right now. </p><p>Geralt was so willing, so wanton there under him, it felt like a dream. Whatever rich and fragrant oils Geralt possessed covered them both and were spread lavishly over their loins and stomachs. Jaskier wrapped an arm firmly around Geralt’s thigh and pressed deeper against him meeting Geralt’s intense sultry gaze. </p><p><em>“Yes...” </em>Geralt said, voice hard and lust driven as he felt Jaskier press closer. His fingers dug tightly into Jaskier’s hair as he growled the bard’s name low in his throat.</p><p>Jaskier’s fingers stroked pleasure into Geralt like a building fire as he slowly and easily found his way into the consuming heat of Geralt’s welcoming body, until they were locked tight to one another. Geralt sighed under him, his body going taught and hard before relaxing completely, his stomach unclenching. Jaskier tried with every thrust to make Geralt feel how much he wanted him.</p><p>Geralt’s head was thrown back into the pillows, white strands of hair clinging to his cheeks beside his lips. His pecs were tense and peaking as he gripped Jaskier hard and dragged him close with each movement of Jaskier’s hips.    </p><p>The witcher was quiet with soft almost inaudible groans but his eyes spoke loudly as he watched Jaskier.</p><p>It was almost too much for Jaskier, to have Geralt like this, having known him for so long, knowing what unearthly strength he possessed, what pain he had harbored, and how hard he’d striven for others, now all of it encompassed in Jaskier’s arms at last. He felt that no one else had ever truly appreciated Geralt the way he did. Did Geralt see that? With his stupid devotion to those who sought to use him so often. </p><p>He whispered Geralt’s name over and over until it felt like a kind of frenzy and Jaskier felt the culmination building to a peak, he would have slowed but Geralt held him there and refused to let him stop, he coaxed him on until the wave of pleasure crested and broke over them. Jaskier gave everything he had to Geralt’s body until he was weak from it. Geralt came a second after him with a cry wet and gutted in his throat. The sight of it broke Jaskier into pieces. Jaskier almost expected what came next to distance them once more, some casualness to make it seem unimportant.</p><p>In a dreamy state Geralt drifted and put his arm around Jaskier when the man laid down, trailing fingers through the bard’s hair as Jaskier nestled into Geralt’s shoulder warm and heavy with feeling.</p><p>“There’s some poetry here, don’t you think?” Geralt murmured and it took Jaskier a full moment to understand what he meant. Jaskier tried to look up at him but he was a little too close. “I think there is quite a lot of poetry here,” Jaskier said. “Perhaps more than I could ever capture.”</p><p>“So you’ll stay for awhile then?”</p><p>“I’ll stay until you ask me to leave,” Jaskier said, and the words hurt before he could even think about them leaving his lips but Geralt’s look soothed him.</p><p>“You’ll get tired of being here long before I ask you to leave, Jaskier.”</p><p>“Is that a challenge?”</p><p>Geralt’s expression humored him. </p><p>“Then I accept.”</p><p>“Good. Now about that bath…”</p><p>It seemed like the perfect thing after their little detour and Jaskier pushed himself up and out of bed. Geralt joined him in the large tub which improved the activity even more. They spoke little as they sat facing one another in the hot water but came around eventually to the topic of tomorrow. “I have something I have to do in the morning,” Geralt said.</p><p>“Hmm, some local lordling needs saving from a rampaging endrega?”</p><p>“No, the pantry needs to be restocked. It’s market day.” </p><p>“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get used to this,” Jaskier said. “It’s a strange life. Beautiful weather, endless wine, nothing to worry about,” he drew little circles in the water with his fingers and sighed as if hard put upon.</p><p>“There is that little bit about you being banished not so long ago...” Geralt’s voice was languid and slowed by the warmth of the bath. </p><p>“Right, do you think the Duchess has forgotten about that yet?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t count on it. That should keep things interesting enough for you for awhile...but failing that, this isn't so bad is it?”</p><p>“As far as understatements go Geralt, that might be one of the greatest I’ve ever heard.”</p><p> </p>
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